


Delicacy

by gnashing_teeth



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cardiophilia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, For the most part, Hannibal Lecter wants your heart, Humiliation, Loss of Limbs, Mental Health Issues, Other, Reader wants to be eaten, chef kiss @ that limb loss tag, gender neutral reader, organ harvesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnashing_teeth/pseuds/gnashing_teeth
Summary: You go to your new psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter, on the simple basis of anxiety and intrusive thoughts. He knows exactly what to do for you.
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter & Reader, Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character(s), Hannibal Lecter/Reader, Hannibal Lecter/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Delicacy

**Author's Note:**

> HEED THE TAGS! HEED THE TAGS! HEED THE TAGS!

His hand curved over the mound of flesh on your chest, his skin against yours, weathered by time, drew a trembling breath from you. Shaking, the sensation incomprehensible in your mind. The jittering excitement of dreams now realized, of fantasies played out in such morbid pictures that haunted your head. The doctor was good at dredging them up, after the first few sessions you came to wonder what kind of psychiatrist he was. 

“It is a dangerous thing, to get what one wishes for. Especially so, when it goes against the intrinsic human instinct for survival.”

You went to him on the simple basis of anxiety, intrusive, violent thoughts plagued your mind and interrupted your days. Angry razor sensations against your skin, visions of dead bodies and people being displayed in such grotesquely unique ways. At night, closing your eyes to bodies bent in unnatural angles or seeing people skinned. You felt the pain too. Seeing the wounds be inflicted onto your own body. There was thought being put into these displays, like human taxidermy. Human bones carved like ivory tusks. Human art.

Fear strangled you the first session, hardly being able to speak about the dark images your mind perceived when it was suspended in a moment of silence. It transformed to something even more disgusting. Sexual fantasies now, fantasies of your therapist buried inside you more ways than one. This was a sickness he could not possibly help you through. Silence was the only viable answer was it not? No one wanted to hear about being fucked and killed in the same moment. You would be hospitalized, no therapist would allow such a bleak creature like you back into the light of day after hearing these ideas. 

But he was a persistent hunter, by the end of your fourth session he had extracted the thoughts you suppressed with all your might. As if you were an instrument, his dexterous fingers plucked each cord of your psyche, making you sing songs of mutilation and sexual torment. Of course, he would never know who these fantasies were actually about. You could never bring yourself to tell him. It was always the butcher behind the counter, the man you crossed paths with during an evening stroll, or the mechanic. You were a filthy liar, but it was the only sensible answer out of this amassed madness. 

“These thoughts and fantasies are more human than you know.” he spoke in a calming tone with the smallest smirk quirking up his lip. 

So, he was a liar too? No person in their right frame of mind could possibly conjure up the thought processes you did. No one wanted to be sliced, to have hands dive into man made orifices and rummage through beating chambers. Organ after organ snatched out to be savored. 

No one wanted to be devoured. 

Oh, but he was lovely with you. He made you feel like a precious lamb, a sacrificial little animal. Soft, ignorant, and shaking without your flock. With wide eyes you watched as his hands finished roaming the expanse of your flesh bared for him. 

“It’s important to know our place in this world. In each drop of blood that courses through your veins you know it is your purpose to be eaten. That to feel worthy, to feel loved, you must be consumed.”

He was setting aside tools for the final dinner’s preparation, already eating your limbs weeks prior. Like an infant you relied on him in those final days. Needing him to move you and help feed you. Perhaps, if someone had come to save you, to know to look for you, life would be different, but very much liveable. You would have figured how to get on with those missing limbs, but you couldn’t turn back anymore. There was no purpose for it, this was your destiny now, every single moment you craved and sat in the visions of everything you yearned for. There were remnants of you, dominant arm, torso, and head were all that remained. He had bathed you before placing you on his slaughter table, commenting on how well your blood will mariante the skin once you are cut open to harvest. The words drew butterflies from the cocoons that hung from inside your ribcage for ages.

Your eyes closed, easing yourself as you felt the sharp blade of the scalpel glide across your skin like scissors to paper. Body stiffening to suppress a jerk, blood oozing it’s way through the wound from the tension of muscles. Hot and trickling down the curve of your torso to pool itself in a sticky, warm puddle beneath you. His worn hands massaging crimson into your skin, before cutting further up your abdomen, as if you were a simple fish to gut. It was impossible to suppress the moan that tore itself through your throat. Your hand moving to feel the open wound.

“If you are going to start touching my work, I may have to take that from you first before I finish the rest of you.” his tone was playful, but you were unsure if he was joking or not.

The thought flashed across your mind, it would be so easy, you were minutes from death. Why stop yourself? 

With a trembling breath you reached down towards your psychiatrist’s dress pants and cupped him, painting droplets of blood from your hand touching your incision. Beneath the threaded fabric you felt how warm he was and a soft twitch against your palm. 

He looked up from your oozing wound and towards your saucer eyes. Anxiety was too palpable a sensation, slugging its way through your chest and down into your exposed intestines. So sure that it would have spilled through the gash. 

An amused noise blew through his nose, “I see we haven’t been completely honest with me during our sessions, have we?” 

Afraid, but determined to not answer, you gently began palming him, eliciting another twitch as his dick began to grow larger. You felt the curl of his fingers around your wrist a second later, his gaze became calculating. Examining you carefully on the table, roaming your figure as if he had forgotten how he got here and your naked, bleeding, and almost limbless body were to hold the answer. 

He scrutinized you one more time before snapping out of his thoughts, “I’m sure you can understand why I cannot do that. To be crude, it would be akin to you fornicating with the cow that is to become your steak.” the backs of his fingers brush feather soft against your cheek as he searches your face, “However, I would have in another circumstance.”  
  
Your face felt a flash of heat from humiliation at his words. You obediently put your hand back to your side, instead playing with the stewing blood that was cooling on the table. Wrangling in your disappointment you reminded yourself that most of your wishes were going to be, and already were realized. This one little thing couldn’t ruin your end.

As if he had seen you wrestle with your thoughts, you felt his hands dive deeper into the wound to move on from the embarrassing situation for you. The sensation was unnatural. Electrical impulses made your body twitch, a part of your primitive brain screaming at you to run, to flee, to fight, to do anything else but lay here a second longer and allow yourself death. 

“Interesting how the body works to preserve our livelihood. It is not so easy to kill a living thing, we are innately designed for survival. Right now, inside your brain and all throughout your body, I’m sure you feel it like fire coursing through you, the very inherit need to run, but above that is your want. The need to be eaten.”

You were aware you could feel pain inside, stomach aches, heart palpitations, bloating, and cramping. But this was an entirely new feeling, a type of agitation that awoke parts that you didn't know existed inside. There were parts you could not feel, instead hearing him cut and place the wet organs he was harvesting in a satisfying slapping sound onto the table. 

Beginning to feel faint and feverish, cold sweat contributing to loss of dire fluids, you imagined yourself probably pale in color to a point you didn’t think was physically possible for you. In the other room, above his basement, there was the sound of a tide swelling and crashing. It felt intimate, as if the salty waves could flood the room and carry you with it. When you drowned in the ocean, it would finally silence the wet crinkling of your body taking in air. Even if the shallow breaths you were drawing grew weaker.

“I was trying to save this for last, but I fear you are dying faster than I thought you would.” he gets closer to you, hovering over you as he stuffs his arm into the open and emptying cavern of your torso.

There is a mist in your mind, but you understand what he is trying to tell you. Grip on everything around you loosening quickly, you watch him with such adoration as he digs his way through you. It’s devastation he brings with him, the pressure of his arm reaching in is supposed to feel intrusive and painful, but instead you feel close. Oh, so close with him. You could love him could you not? In fact, you were very sure now that you did, as you watched those dark eyes focused on the work he was performing for you.

It was warmth that flooded through you now. Moments ago sure that you couldn’t feel a thing anymore as your body let go. But this you could feel, the pressure of his nimble fingers wrapped delicately around the beating organ. It was raw and ghostly, but you could sense the running of his thumb across it. Once. Twice. And one last time before you saw the blurred image of something long and reflective in his hand.

“Let the tides take you.” 

And for a moment you thought, he must be coming with you because he sounded underwater too. It was the last sharp pain, the slice of the artery finished your organs in a drowning of red fluid. Motion ran dry, thoughts left you in a swirling whirlpool that emptied into the stars behind your eyes. As your final minute came, you wished to see yourself, bloody, heartless and pale. Instead your gaze fell on the man who helped you, who indulged in your fantasy, who made it reality. You watched him with his unfeigned smile, your heart guardedly in his hand, tucked closely to his own chest. 


End file.
